Page 100 of Whiskey Throttle
I noticed the switch from mother to mom. Perhaps I'm making progress with this brutal honesty.
“She's been through a lot, as you know. Your dad, the divorce. Trying to be perfect at every dinner party, ladies’ luncheon, and charity event. The long stares, the quiet whispers, the gossip mill. She's had to endure that all alone.”
“Fuck those society bitches.”
He huffs as if they don't matter. To him and me, they don't, but that's her whole world. By undercutting their importance to her, he shows he doesn't get her at all.
“I agree, but it's the world she's in. It's all she has left. Your sister split town. She has no one to walk into those events except herself. Think of how hard that has to be.”
He uses his thumb to wipe the blood from his lip, not even wincing in pain. Must be a high tolerance for shit like this.
“I'm fucking there. I go to almost all those goddamn events.”
“For ten minutes, fifteen if you're made to do a picture.” I stare at him when making this point. “She walks in to everyone staring. Has to ignore the sympathetic looks she gets when your piece of work dad, shows up. She basically has to wear armor everywhere she goes. You don't stay for hours on end to protect her from that. She's learned to protect herself to survive all that. She deserves to be happy.”
Dom's expression darkens, and I can see the storm brewing in his eyes.
“And you think you can make her happy? You're just a kid, Hollister. You don't know what she needs.”
I hold my ground, meeting his gaze steadily.
“I know that she deserves someone who sees her for who she is. Who knows that world and can navigate it with her. And yeah, maybe I am younger, but that doesn't mean I can't be that person for her.”
He goes silent.
We sit here, side by side in the dark. Both of us torn and cut up, with our legs stretched in front of us.
“Why not someone else? Anyone else?”
The plea is still there. Not as strong, but with a little more understanding.
“I don't know, man. I don't know.”
My fingertips trail the outer bone of my cheek, searching for a cut and finding one. I pull my hand away, see the blood, and wipe it on the concrete next to me.
“It's fucking weird,” he grumbles, the calmest version of himself since I got here tonight. “My mom and friend.”
I don't respond. I don't need to. I've said everything I know to say. Explained everything I know about her without violating her privacy or what we shared as a couple. We sit in silence by the dock. Rage and adrenaline are cooling.
Not forgiveness and not a definite path forward. An understanding, kind of. A crack in Dom's armor.
“Em's dick really won't work anymore?”
“Fuck if I know. I could study it in the lab, but figuring out if my buddy’s dick works or not is not my first priority.”
I chuckle at the sarcastic dark energy that’s typical Dom. The release feels good to my body, my psyche, and the direction I think we're going. Dom gives me a steely side glance. Probably for breaking the silence or asking a stupid question. But if anyone would know about bodies and how they function, it would be him.
“Knowing that guy, he'd probably love you studying his dick.”
A vision of Em shoving his dick in Dom's face comes to mind. Em's always running around naked at parties. If his shit doesn't work, he'll be devastated. Who wouldn't?
He shoves me hard.
My palm scrapes the broken concrete, trying not to fall over.
“Fuck you, Hollister.”
CHAPTER 24
